


Emergency in the ER

by Peoplesing



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peoplesing/pseuds/Peoplesing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a nurse and Grantaire is his usual patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency in the ER

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly satisfied with this. I dunno, I feel like Enjolras is a bit too much pathetic... Oh well.  
> My brother's a nurse, he's the one who told me about acute alcohol poisoning (AAP)  
> This is unbeta, so if you spot any mistakes, please tell me.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it.

Young Julien Enjolras wanted to save the world. It was something that, ever since he could remember, he wanted to do. His mother told him: “be a lawyer” and his father told him; “be a politician”. But Enjolras was at that age where one would do the exact contrary of what their parents would say to said person. They always had been filthy rich and the top of the upper French class, so what to do to piss them off?

Become part of the lower class.

Coincidently, it was around that time he met hypochondriac Joly, Joly that, at the top of his 18 years old, wanted to become a doctor and save lives. 

Joly's vision was tempting, but doctors were snobs that barley work. They did a few operations a week and that was about it. Not that Joly was snob (he really more was a I-want-to-eradicate-all-the-illnesses-of-the-world),not at all. He was a really nice guy. But being a neurosurgeon or a heart surgeon didn't seduced Enjolras one last bit.

So he settled to the next best thing. He became a nurse (and he kept preciously the memory of his parents shocked faces when he told them).

He left the luxurious house they had on rive gauche, to go and live in a tiny apartment in the 20th district with a few people.

He wanted to save the world, one life at a time. The rest was just bonus.

After 3 years and a half of study at Lacroix Saint Simon and working part time as a waiter to pay for rent , he got into hospital Tenon easily, because they were always searching for employees and being a nurse was hard.

He chose to get into the ER, because it was the most interesting thing he could do (he just couldn't picture himself taking care of newborn babies and old people). It was the most thrilling service too. The nurse could handle stress and loved the rush coursing through his veins. And Doctor Jean Valjean, the head of the ER, greeted him with open arms and a open smile.

That was how Enjolras became a nurse.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras hated the ER on Saturdays. More precisely Saturdays night shifts, from 10 pm to 6 am. He actually loathed it.

First of all, because he had no choice. Half of the nurses were women with kids who always asked for the day off. Not that he blamed them; he understood. Family life matters. And he, the youngest among them, freshly out of school and without family (he and his parents weren't on speaking terms), he couldn't just go to the head nurse and tell him he wanted his night off to get wasted. He always ended up with the crappy schedule.

Second of all, talk about karma, Saturdays were the worst. The ER was never empty, but it couldn't be more full than on those nights. People were waiting for hours, and most of them had a tendency to get antsy.

And at last, it was the weekend, which meant a good third were here for on reason: alcohol and all the others. From midnight to the end of his shift, Enjolras had to deal with all the drunks from eastern Paris. At least those that were smart enough, those who knew where to stop and actually sought for help when they were ill (although policemen and firemen also filled the room with a bunch of unwilling patients). They were men and women from the streets, coming out of clubs, teenagers from parties...

To resume it all, Enjolras hated Saturdays.

So he finished his already cold coffee in one large gulp, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste, all of that under the glare of Javert. The man was one of the doctors of the ER and he disliked everyone that worked with him (most of all doctor Valjean). But for now he just snapped at Enjolras to get back to work already, which the blond did, by walking towards the reception. 

At the desk was sitting a pretty blond, Cosette who happened to be the daughter of doctor Valjean. She handed him the usual folder full of the files that had been completed soon before by all the people still waiting. He was about to go, when she called the nurse out:

“Your patient is here” she said with a wicked smile

“Who?”

Truth be told, Enjolras knew about it. He was still hoping it wasn't true, but luck never was on his side. Cosette's smile just confirmed it. He left the desk, taking in a deep breath, before walking slowly towards the waiting room.

He was looking a the forms when he sighed in defeat, seeing a familiar name amongst them all.

Sebastian Henri Grantaire.

With his usual signature, that complicated capital R he used (“a pun of words” he always said, with that lopsided smile of his)

He went to check the symptoms, frowning when he saw the usual comment: intoxicated by ethynol , possible AAP (acute alcohol poisoning).

At least that was better than the time he fell of the stairs and broke his arms and 3 ribs, high as usual.

He got in, scanning the room for the next patient (it was the toasted man). He called for him a little too loudly “Sebastian Grantaire!”. In response, he heard a loud groan, that vaguely sound like “here”, before he spotted the familiar mop of black hair. He walked toward him, before finding the man wearing his usual grin (god he was drunk).

“Hello doctor” he said smugly, “so what's my stasis?”

“I'm not a doctor” he replied, already feeling strained by the man, “and you know perfectly what you have. It must the 20th you're coming.”

“Why? You're counting?”

“No, of course not” he lied” If you would follow me to your room. The doctor will examine you”

“Always right down to business. I always like that about you. And you're probably right, I could write books about AAPs.”

“And you're proud of it?”

“What? I'm sure it would have it's use!”

“Do you think it's a joke?” He asked disbelievingly. The drunk just shrugged in response. 

“Just come with me” he gritted out.

Grantaire just chuckled with that throaty voice of his, “probably dehydrated”, he noted inwardly. The brown haired man finally got up a little shakily as they made way to the patient's room.

Enjolras was always puzzled with Grantaire. Even at his worst, the man was at his best state of mind. Even in a half comatose or puking his guts, he still managed to talk with witty comebacks and choose the most pertinent subjects to pass time. 

Today they argued about politics and social plans. Grantaire was a man that believed that people were people, and that they were not salvageable. You could give them a second chance and some money in rough times, they would abuse and take advantage of it. Enjolras, of course, the universal defender of humanity, disagreed. Even the darkest of evil could be repented. Unemployment benefit helped people in need. Socialism was good. 

“You can't say stuff like that” Scoffed the socialist, “if you don't have faith in the people, how can you expect them to be get better? Society classes were created by human kind. They are artificial an so, can be change.”

“Marx thought otherwise.”

“Marx is overrated.”

“You say that, but what he said was, is and will be.”

“We can change. Look at the revolutions the people did. They changed the world.”

“ But did the world really change? You can think whatever you like, but in all those centuries of humanity human kind remained the same. Opportunist and corrupted.” He bowed down with irony, his movement bold and steady.

Being wasted suited Grantaire, he realized. The drunk always walked and stumbled with some form of awkward grace. It was always weird to see him move, sometimes very fast and harsh, and others slow and calculated. Compared to the times where he was deadly pale and hungover, the red of his cheek always managed to make him look very handsome. He numbly realized that he had never seen Sebastian- no, Grantaire- sober. Enjolras shook his head. 

“Just get in there you pessimist.” He half pushed him in the examination room. The drunk sat down, his legs kicking the air in anticipation.

“What, no witty comebacks?”

“I'm trying to do my work here.” He said, a little vexed as he started doing the usual examinations. 

“That doesn't mean we can't chit chat” He answered letting the blond do his job.

“About what? What kind of alcohol you drank? How many glasses? Was the waitress pretty?”

Definitely drunk, and dehydrated. He should make him drink some fluids.

“Why, jealous?”

“No.” He said roughly, getting his tiny flashlight out to observe the patient's pupils (they were pretty eyes, a lot more blue than his).

Grantaire just smiled pointedly, looking unconvinced, but the nurse chose not to notice it. 

The silence stretched , making things a little awkward for Enjolras. The patient didn't seem to mind, as he was humming a low tune to himself. It was something catchy, that the nurse would probably remember during the night. 

The blond finished his check up, writing on the report silently.

“Doctor Montparnasse will be here in a moment.”

Grantaire groaned at the perspective. He had been examined by him before. He was a terrible doctor, with a nasal voice. He was a vain and brutal man, definitely not the best doctor around.

Enjolras smirked a little and went back to work. His spirit might have risen a little, but he still had a lot of patients to treat.

Toward the end of his shift, he went to check on all of hi patient, keeping Grantaire for last. But, when he opened the door, he could only find the man asleep, snoring slightly. He looked so peaceful, he thought, after checking his stasis to see if the patient was getting better (mostly to see if he hadn't fall into a real coma).

Grantaire came by about a year ago (no, he wasn't counting!). The man had been brought in by the cops, after he got beat up in a bar, hammered like hell. Once in the ER, he thought that Enjolras was some kind of deity and kept calling the nurse Apollo. It had been peculiarly hard not to get angry at him that night. It was even harder for him, when the man turned out to be a big cynic that loved to throw his life away. And apparently, a broken shoulder wasn't enough to make him stop drinking. 

Ever since that night, Grantaire seemed to come here, a lot.

At least he wasn't having an overdose under a bus stop or something.

But.

But there must be something more to him.

He took a moment to actually see the man. If only...

Enjolras just shook his head, condemning the thought and went back to see the doctor supervising tonight (it was Javert, grumpy as always) to give back his evaluation and to finally get home. 

 

* * *

 

It's not that he condemns drugs. No. In a way, all the people working stressful jobs like this were addicted to something more or less legal.

Enjolras smoked at parties (cigarettes and others), which meant occasionally, drunk his fair amount of alcohol and drowned himself in gallons of coffee when he was at work. He knew it wasn't good, but he didn't care. Or, more accurately, couldn't afford to. He worked a difficult job that took a lot of his time and where saw death and tragedy daily. It was bound to take some of his sanity away. What he learned was to never live in excess, and Grantaire was the sole definition of it. 

In the end, it always came back to Grantaire.

The man obsessed him, he realized. He wasn't thinking about Mrs. Dubois, the elderly woman who came in almost every month, victim of the most bizarre accidents. He was never preoccupied by Etienne, the 11 year old boy who was such a hot head on his skateboard that he kept falling off. He had seen alcoholics come and go. But Grantaire...

That was Enjolras state of mind when he came back to work on Monday afternoon. He ended up baning the thought out of his mind, and focused on his work. 

The days passed, and soon enough it was Saturday night once again. The days kept following in an circle, and not a pretty one.

Work was... well work. An never ending stream of injuries and sickness more or less threatening for the patients. The only interesting ones for Enjolras were 2 early case of tuberculosis and a open heart surgery. 

Until Saturday (really, Saturdays should be banned from his calendar). Like every weekend, Enjolras starts at 10 pm. He put on his gear, washed his hands and started his shift by reporting to Dr. Javert, who told him, quite brutally, to do a check up on every patient .

He took care of a young cook who opened up her right hand (seven stitches) and sent to surgery a man in his thirties who had an open fracture of his right tibia. It was just a regular day in a ER, a little dull, if you asked him. 

Then he saw the name, through the lifeless and heartless forms, amongst all the name of the patients. A lump filled by itself in his stomach. He can't help the whimper escaping from his mouth.

He continued his round painfully, containing himself from just running there.

He saw the report: he came in 2 days ago, brought in by some firemen. He fell into a coma 39 hours ago and was still in a critical state.

Fuck...

Enjolras felt his heart constricted. It hurt. He stilled himself and forced himself to remain calm. 

He kept doing his round, visiting the patients and writing the reports. His mind felt blank. 

2 hours passed and he finally found some time to see him. He went quietly to room 4005, and when he crossed the door, he had to sit down on the visitor's chair, his heart heavy with shock.

“Grantaire” he whispered helplessly.

Here he was, lying on the bed, looking as pale as a ghost, huge dark circles under his eyes and tired features. He was sweating profusely, big drops of water sliding down his face.

He took his hand into his, seeking closure. It was clammy and hot.

He should be used to this, seeing patients in a bad state, between life and death. He shouldn't care, but he did.

He should be used to see Grantaire like that.

Yet, it still wretched his heart.

He finally got up, limbs trembling and went to check the man stasis in an automatic manner. His nails dug painfully into his palms as frustration washed over him.

He got out and started walking down the corridor.

He met a man, looking pale and beyond shock, also not that different from the patient he just left. He blinked and the man blinked too. It was only then he realized that it was his own reflection.

Unfortunately, life goes on. So he went back to the doctor, his physical self working but his mind blank. During that shift, Enjolras drank about 8 coffees. As a result, his hands were twitchy. Javert finally sent him off, being even more annoyed with him than usual. But the blond couldn't get home. So he went back to Grantaire's room and just sat there, looking at nothing in peculiar and expecting even less.

His friend Joly found him. It was normal. Joly was still a doctor in training and he did internships at the hospital.

“I was worried” he said. “I send you a bunch of texts” he said.

He checked his phone. It was true. He had half a dozen voice mails and twice as much texts.

He hadn't notice. He didn't care.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks for the compliment” the nurse said with irony. 

“Come on, let's get you home”

He came home, but couldn't sleep, guarded by Joly and Enjolras's other roommate, Combeferre. They had been friends for years, even though Combeferre was a literature student. They always had been the trio of Paris. Enjolras was the truth, a little cold but with a heart at the right place. Combeferre was the day dreaming philosopher, trapped in the past. Joly was the paranoid one, determined to eradicate every illness in the world. 

They tried to cheer him. They really did, but still, inside, He kept thinking about _him._

It was to the point he couldn't be more than a wreck. Javert wouldn't let him go back to work (talking about emotional unbalance). Frustration grew even more within him. The man wouldn't leave his thoughts, but now he kept him from doing his job. And Enjolras loved his job. His purpose in life was to save lives and help others, although, sometimes it's true it can be annoying to sew up little cuts. And Enjolras insisted he was fine. He might look like shit, but he still kept it together. Yet, Javert refused. Javert was an asshole (there, he said it). 

But Enjolras came anyway, visiting his coworkers, making himself violence not to see _him._ He loved to talk to Cosette , when she wasn't busy. She seemed concerned without expressing her worry. He liked to wait for Joly and they came home, the 2 of them. He would help the future medic studying. His thesis was coming up soon, and Jolly, paranoid as he was, kept stressing about it. “You have nothing to worry about”, the blond would tell, “you know all of this. You've worked hard enough.” They would go out with Combeferre and a few other friends (Bahorel, Bossuet and Feuilly) and drink a few pints. Obviously, Enjolras couldn't. He just couldn't bear the taste of alcohol. But between laughter, jokes and a few passionate speeches, he forgot a little.

On Thursday, Enjolras came over as usual. He roamed through the hallways, searching for Joly that was supposed to be taking care of a newly arrived patient, when he stopped brutally. He was next to Grantaire's room. And he could hear laughter.

Grantaire's laughter.

He came nearby it, looking trough the little window's door. He glimpsed 2 brunettes, a boy and a girl, looking a lot like another. They were talking animately, one in the bed, the other one standing straight, back to the door. He knocked, unsure of himself, before opening the door roughly, scared of backing down. The 2 were staring at him, Grantaire, looking a little more lively than he had for the past week, and the girl, probably older than the 2 men. 

“Oh. Enjolras.” Said Grantaire, looking a little disbelieved.

The girl, hearing his name, started smirking knowingly. And that unsettled the blond. 

“I can leave, if you want.” Said Enjolras.

“No no”, the girl shook her head, “I'll go. Good to see you little brother, think about what I said.”

They keep each other's cheeks as goodbye.

“Of course, Manon. I'll hope I'll see you soon.”

The door closed as she left, the thud of it sounding deafening. They were alone. 

This couldn't be more awkward. Grantaire was eying expectantly at him, while the nurse couldn't bring himself to do the same. 

“You... You look well” The blond uttered a little coldly.

“Always when I see your pretty face, Apollo. I wouldn't be against a few spirits to lighten my aching head.”

He frowned distastefully and replied: “Of course you would, you wine case.”

“Yes I am! The thing rushing in my veins is more alcohol than blood!”

Enjolras's face blanched slightly. He was beyond help. He still couldn't stare at him. 

“Well, I hope you'll be better.”

He bowed his head slightly, as Grantaire smiled faintly and wordlessly. And the blond left. He stride in the hallway, slowly, very slowly.

He kept telling himself that it was no use. That he couldn't change anything. Let's face it, he didn't want to go.

That man was... insufferable. 

It was not use.

God!

He turned around and started jogging back towards the room. He pulled the door roughly and got inside in a flash. Grantaire was still there, obviously, and was looking at him, mouth agape. He couldn't even recover than Enjolras started yelling striding even closer to the patient:

“Now you listen to me you fool. I was worried sick. This, this self-destructing attitude you have, it has to stop! You have to stop because it will kill you one day!”

They were even nearer now.

“I kept thinking you wouldn't wake up! Do you what it feels like? Do you know how I feel like? It hurts! It fucking hurts!”

“Enjolras...”

“No you don't get to talk back. You were in a coma. And... And you could have died! This is getting out of control and... And you need to stop! Stop drinking yourself to death!” 

“Enjolras...”

“WHAT?”

Grantaire grabbed him by the neck and brought him close and their lips met. It was sudden, and so unsuspected that the blond didn't react and Grantaire was kissing him gently and with all his heart and...

The nurse drew back quickly, looking struck. It was overwhelming and Grantaire opened his eyes slowly, looking expectantly at him. 

This couldn't be happening.

“Enjolras?”

“I.”

A wordless Enjolras was something foreign. 

And he flee. 

He flee like a coward. Because he never was able to handle relationships. Because he was scared and because this was Grantaire, the overwhelming and infuriating man that came almost every week. The irresponsible one that risked his life with booze, but that was still smart enough to come here when he felt ill. It was almost as if he wanted to go there on a regular basis.

He left the hallway and went directly to the lounge, barely acknowledging his colleagues. He poor out a cup of searing hot coffee in a more or less clean mug.

To say that he was in shock was an understatement. It was like a tidal wave had hit him. It was all about Grantaire, his feelings, his fears, his addiction and about Enjolras and his own feelings.

So Grantaire, behind all his cynicism and casualness, liked him. 

And Enjolras liked him too. He liked him through his skepticism, his alcoholism, his infuriating nature and all of his flaws. He like him. A lot. 

He brushed his lips slightly, pensive. He could almost feel them, the phantom pair of his, stealing his breath.

He felt a sudden lump in his throat. Trying to keep it all inside, he drank the coffee in one gulp.

He had left Grantaire, alone... 

He must think he was a jerk.

God he was a jerk.

He ran to the back to the room in a hurry.

But when he came back (He really did), but Grantaire was gone.

Shit.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras was a moron. He kept telling himself that, Joly and Combeferre told him that. The 2 had, of course, talked to Marius, Enjolras's cousin and by accessory Cosette's fiancée. He told his woman, who had screamed at the nurse like a banshee at the first occasion she saw him (in the locker room; by the way it was the first time he saw Javert being scared by someone). 

Doctor Valjean allowed him to work again, going against Javert's approval. And it was nice. He had to assist a urgency brain procedure with Valjean, before the patient was sent to a specialist. Nobody died that week. Even with his poor state of mind, life was good.

He kept waiting for Grantaire to come back, but a week became 2, 2 turned into 3,... Hell, the season changed. Until the point Enjolras was more expecting R's corpse instead of his intoxicated self. Still, he lived, worked and had fun with his friends like always had, keeping the man locked in a part of his mind.

On a Friday, he putted a loose shirt and a red beanie (so different from his work scrubs) and went to a concert with some friends. It was him, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Bahorel. It was good, some kind of electro pop generic band, that Jehan was a big fan of. It set his mind off things. He even drank a beer. His smile came a little uneasily, but it was there, because he had fun, and that was life was all about. 

Until Wednesday.

''Nurse Enjolras to the reception. Someone's here for Enjolras please.”

The blond froze, faith leaping from under his skin. Could it be? Come on it had to be Grantaire.

He half ran to the desk, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

A dark figure stood at the secretary with Cosette, chatting with her in a casual manner.

But it was a girl.

Enjolras sighed and went to see the foreign brunette. 

“Monsieur Enjolras?” she asked, looking positively smug.

“Yes” He snapped a little too brutally “What do you want?”

“I'm Eponine” She said, unimpressed by him “I'm accompanying him.”

She pointed another man, a patient sitting a the other side. Or so he though. It was Grantaire.

Grantaire, looking paler than usual, but not sickly like at his worst. He smiled, a shy one compared to the ones he used to cast him. But it was him, flesh and bone.

“You!” He half yelled, not caring to attract everyone's attention.

“Me?” He asked, looking puzzled.

“Grantaire, what the hell happened to you? What are you doing here? So you're drunk again. I bet you are, you and your girlfriend.” He felt like he was babbling. “Do you even care what I'm feeling? And sorry I ran away but I came back and you weren't there. And then I had no news from you. And I was so worried and and... 

He definitely was babbling.

“Enjolras...”

“And what are you doing here. AAP again I bet.” 

“I came to ask you on a date” He interrupted, suddenly blushing.

That shut him up.

“Yes” the brown haired man continued,”a date, to a restaurant or the cinema... A bar probably wouldn't be a great idea. But” he took one of his hands to his, squeezing lightly “But, I heard you, Julien, and I'm a month sober. For you, Julien. So, if you would indulge me and my weaknesses, for one little date...”

He stopped abruptly, looking straight into his wide blue eyes.

“I'm his sober companion, not his girlfriend, you moron!” called Eponine from where she stood, along with Cosette's laughter.

“You...”

Sometimes, actions speak louder than words. So it was Enjolras who closed the gap. His hand curled instinctively on the lapel of Grantaire's jacket and he tilted his head downwards. He didn't taste like alcohol indeed, he noticed. And he felt a burst of heat from inside his chest, as if only Grantaire could make him whole. Sebastian groaned as he buried his hands in the golden curls, tugging gently. 

Enjolras clearly dominated the kiss, holding him firmly in place, as his tongue claimed his mouth and Grantaire didn't seem to mind. At all.

They ripped themselves apart reluctantly, their foreheads brushing as the 2 girls whistled and cheered ridiculously at the couple.

They didn't care.

“One date.” He whispered in Grantaire's ear, barley able to contain his genuine smile. 

“One date.” He said back, ignoring the 2 girls. 

Many others would follow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Curse this fandom for boys with beanies  
> So what did you guys thought about it?


End file.
